


Confringito

by TurtleNovas



Series: Spoils of War [2]
Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED.  I had fully intended to come back and finish this, and even still have the outlines and everything, but I don't think I will ever be in the right place to come back to this.  So sorry to anyone who was still holding out hope. :{</p>
<p>Vilgax has won.  He has the Omnitrix, and more importantly, he has Ben.  Now it's up to Ben to say alive and sane long enough to escape.<br/>(This is a direct continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/803345">Spoils of War</a>.)<br/>Uses the original incarnation of Vilgax.  AU outside of the original series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Confringito_ is a Latin word with various meanings depending on context. One translation is, "he shall break into many pieces".
> 
> I'm going to say this is AU for anything after season 2 of Alien Force, because I'm using an earlier incarnation of Vilgax. 
> 
> Also! Thank you to my friend who knows who she is, who not only inspired this, but gave tons of awesome input. :D
> 
> Lastly, please be sure to heed the warnings!

Ben woke with a start, body jerking to life with the sensation of falling, until he slammed his wrist against a hard metal edge, and the world screeched back into sharp focus. He groaned and choked on the sudden exchange of air, curling in on himself as he hacked his way through a coughing fit. His fingers curled tight over the edge of, what he realized was a lab table, and he pushed himself up, looking for a better position, room to breathe, any sort of respite from the unbearable press of pain. 

He couldn't remember being stabbed, but it felt as though he had a knife lodged in his back, sitting snugly between his ribs, making every breath an agonizing test of endurance. There was an ache in his head that made him think his brain might be swollen, pressing against his skull, in danger of bruising, or oozing out of his orifices. His legs felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder, and the vibrant, dark smudges across his thighs didn't dissuade the thought. His shoulders were screaming, as though maybe he'd dislocated and relocated them somewhere along the line. Worst of all, though, was the sharp pull of raw, swollen skin at his hole - a relatively simple pain, but one which brought with it the icy claws of panic and despair. 

He realized he was trembling, and forced himself to sit upright, ignoring the hurt of it as he steeled himself, looking around. There was a soft glow emanating from the underside of the table, just barely bright enough to touch the corners of the small room, revealing nothing but dull, grey metal on all sides. Ben shifted, straining his eyes, looking for a seam in the wall, not quite ready to leave his spot on the table for a more hands on search. He could remember Vilgax exiting somewhere on the far wall, but there was no obvious break in the surface for the light to catch on, and Ben could only guess the doorway's general location. He sighed, and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his chest once more. 

He was thirsty. He was hungry. He was exhausted. He hurt everywhere. He was stuck in a cell on Vilgax's ship, unable to gather up enough wits to even jump off the table, and he had no way of knowing how long he'd been here. He wanted to scream, but couldn't gather a breath large enough for it. He wanted to hit something, but his hand was still sore from his rude awakening, and he didn't think his shoulder would be down for the windup anyways. He wanted to do _anything_ , but instead, he could only slump back onto his side, head resting on his discarded blindfold.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that, drifting on the cusp of consciousness, unable to grasp at any single thought for more than a passing moment. He tried to think about his situation, to formulate a plan of action, but the thoughts were slippery, rolling over his mind and then gliding away as soon as Ben grasped for them. He wondered briefly if the drugs were still affecting him, but that thought wriggled away like all the others, before he could make anything of it. He wanted to sleep, came up with a reason why that was a bad idea, and then forgot what it was. 

He thought of Kevin, and Gwen, and Grandpa Max, wondering if they were planning his rescue right now. Maybe they were already docking at Vilgax's cargo bay, ready to break Ben out of here. Or maybe – the walls here really were so smooth. Ben wondered how there could possibly be a door hiding in one of them. Vilgax certainly wasn't here, though, so there had to be a door. He had gone out of the room through a door. After he had fucked Ben. 

Ben groaned, turned to bury his face in the blindfold, pressing his cheek hard against his teeth until the taste of blood slithered into his mouth. Vilgax had fucked him. Vilgax had _raped_ him, and he had begged for it. That was a thought he could hold on to. It was the one thought he wished would slide away. He felt his stomach clench like a fist in his gut, curling and twisting around an empty, gnawing pit, unable to expel anything, despite its most valiant efforts. 

Ben had fallen into a restless sleep by the time the food came, its arrival startling him awake, his heart lodged in his throat. One moment the only sound in the room was the hitching sob of his angry breath, and the next there was a loud, mechanical hiss, and a compartment on the underside of the table opened, revealing a plate of colorless slop, and a jug of water. He ate like a dying man, scooping up the tasteless sludge with his fingers, and licking them clean, before chugging down as much water as his tremulous stomach could handle. Within moments of finishing, his guts heaved, and half of what he'd eaten ended up back in the tray. He looked away and focused on breathing. He didn't want to lose the rest. 

After that, they fed him regularly, the same pale goop appearing at each interval, along with a new supply of water. When he finished, the compartment would close, and he would be left again with nothing to do but think, and hope, and rage. It was not long before his injuries had healed enough that he could move freely, the pain only a dull reminder of why he had to find a way out of here. 

It was after his tenth meal that he finally found the probable location of the door. There was no seam in the wall, but the sound of his fist pounding against the metal resonated differently here, and when he pressed his ear to the spot, he thought he could hear the click and whir of computerized locks readjusting at random intervals. It wasn't until his fifteenth meal that he managed to formulate a plan to jimmy the door, his mind lost in a haze, ensuring him that it was all a matter of listening for the change in the noise, and applying force in the right spots. After his twenty-second meal, he decided it was time to try it out. He didn't know what his plan was, but it didn't matter. He couldn't stay here, doing nothing, waiting for Vilgax to come for him again. He had to take action, had to escape, had to find a way to get back to Kevin and Gwen.

He had to kill Vilgax. 

As it turned out, there were guards outside his door: giant, mechanical beasts, programmed, it seemed, to subdue him with maximum prejudice. He had sixteen meals before he was able to walk again. 

The next time he tried to escape, it was during his feeding time. By pure force of luck, there were no guards this time. It was a risk he had needed to take, hoping that even robots had changing of the guard, and it had paid off. He made it halfway down the corridor before he was shot, a hot blast of laser fire searing through him like he was nothing more than softened butter. He was injured badly enough to need medical attention, though, after a few meals of waiting, he wondered if he would receive it.

When the medic came, Ben attacked him, tried his best to get hold of him, to hurt him, to take him hostage with a shiv made of water jug plastic. He was weak from his injury, though, and he just ended up with four broken ribs and a dislocated elbow to go with his blaster wound. 

It was as he was laying on the table, blind from pain, barely able to breathe for it, that he had the revelation that the medic had been the same species as Vilgax. It took him another several breaths to puzzle out why he'd thought that was important and conclude that, perhaps he wasn't on Vilgax's ship after all. His heart sank. On the ship, he'd had a plan: Get to the hangar, steal an escape pod, fly home. He'd had hope for a rescue. Gwen and Kevin could track Vilgax's ship (they had done it before), and could come to get him. 

If he was on Vilgax's planet, then his chances for escape were significantly diminished. Even if he could escape whatever building he was being held in, he had no means of getting off planet. He would be captured before he could even begin to find his way. 

He felt fear unfurl in his chest, spreading slick fingers up his throat and into his mind. He had no hope of escaping on his own. His only chance now was to stay alive long enough for someone to rescue him. 

Stay alive and endure. They _would_ come for him. They were probably already on their way. He had been here long enough for them to formulate a plan to save him. Now, he was sure, they were only waiting for the right moment. There would be an end to this, and it would come at the hands of his family. 

-

It had been forty six days since Vilgax had conquered Ben Tennyson, and, for the most part, he had neglected to think about his trophy. The time he had taken to wage war for the Omnitrix had come at no small cost to the efficiency of Vilgaxia's government, and now that he had returned, it was his new task to set things back in working order. His days were filled with meetings, and paperwork, and dialogue with citizens and politicians alike, and he had precious little time to revel in his triumph. 

Still, when he returned to his chambers in the evenings, to shed his mantle and prepare for the morrow, it gave him a great thrill to sit and read the daily report of his prisoner's actions. Ben Tennyson had attempted escape three times now, his fire burning bright and constant as he refused to give in. He would sometimes yell out, threatening Vilgax, or the guards, or anyone he thought might be listening. Even in sleep, he would mumble words of his escape, or his rescue, and how he would take his own vengeance, his face flushed and red in what, Vilgax liked to imagine, was his utter shame. 

After this last attempt, however, there seemed to be a change. Ben Tennyson was severely injured (a pound of flesh taken in return for injury inflicted upon Vilgax's most prized medical practitioner), and he was in no small amount of pain. Yet, he did not rage as he had before. He did not push himself to recover, to move again, so that he could work towards new escape. Instead, he lay still, and he slept, and he wept, and he moved only when it was absolutely necessary. He did not yell, or scream of Vilgax's imminent doom. He did not mutter words of solace to himself as he dreamed. He did not display any signs of hope for his situation at all.

It sent a thrill of excitement through Vilgax. Ben Tennyson was breaking, and he had an opportunity to compound the suffering further. He stood, drawing a cloak about himself and set to gathering the items he would need. 

-

For the first time since he'd arrived in this hell, Ben was cold. He was acutely aware of his nakedness, and the stark metal surfaces surrounding him as he shivered. He curled in on himself as gingerly as possible, careful not to jostle his tender ribs, or his objecting elbow. The table was slick with his own sweat, where it poured off of him in protest of his untreated agony, and it only chilled him further. His eyes felt like he'd been rubbing sand in them, and the delicate skin on his face was raw and painful from too many tears leaving salty trails, but still he could feel fresh sobs welling in his chest. 

He couldn't remember what it felt like not to hurt, to move his body and not have it scream out in reproach, to know that, on any given day, he was going to feel well enough to stand, or even to sit upright without effort. His breath hitched, and a sound gurgled out of him. He pressed his cheek against the table, shivering at the chill of the metal, and wept in earnest. 

He didn't hear the hiss of the door opening at his back, didn't see Vilgax enter the room, didn't become aware of his presence at all until his voice rang out, rich and heavy in the cold air, “How pathetic. The _great_ Ben Tennyson reduced to his true form – a sniveling, pathetic piglet.” 

Ben tensed, wanting to turn to look, but unable to move in his fear. For a long moment, he didn't even breathe. He just lie there, as still as he could be with violent shivers wracking his body. Then, he heard Vilgax move, and his breath came rushing back, a hacking, warbling howl escaping him. 

He wanted to turn towards Vilgax, but could not make his body comply. He steeled himself, taking a steadying breath, and saying, “Vilgax. How nice of you to visit.” His voice sounded like he'd been chewing on razorwire, and he almost scolded himself for his sarcasm, but thought better of it. He was screwed either way, but that didn't mean he had to give Vilgax the pleasure of knowing how affected he really was. 

Vilgax said nothing, only skirted into Ben's field of vision and stood silently, presumably waiting. He made an intimidating figure, the dim light of the room casting long shadows over his bulky body. He wasn't wearing his usual...attire, either, but was instead wrapped in a cloak of rich black and red. He looked comfortable, and content to stand there, glaring at Ben until the cows came home. Sweat broke out anew across Ben's back, and under his arms. 

Ben couldn't tell how long he held out (his sense of time was completely gone), but it felt like a while. It felt like long enough that he could feel proud of himself, and not worry about giving in and asking waspishly, “What?” 

Vilgax smiled, mouth stretched wide in a terrifying parody of a grin. “Ben Tennyson, your misery suits me. However, I do not keep you alive simply to watch you wallow in your own pathetic existence.” 

Before Ben could even process his words, Vilgax had moved into his space, and had drawn a hypo-syringe from within the folds of his cloak. Ben had the briefest moment to register a flash of fear, and then the syringe was pressed viciously into his neck and discharged. 

The drugs hit him instantaneously, a wave of heat, nearly unbearable, radiating through his body from the point of injection, followed by the descent of a heavy haze over his mind. For a long moment, he could do nothing but wait for the disorientation to pass, letting his body become accustomed to the new sensations. Once his vision cleared, and he could breathe again, he realized, he was no longer in pain. Or at least, he no longer felt incapacitated by the mere thought of movement. 

His relief was a drug all on it's own. He sat up slowly, and, overwhelmed by his ability to do so, had to choke back a sob. He moved his arms, rolling his shoulders, and bending his good elbow, reveling in his range of motion.

“What the hell did you give me?” His words came out in a slur, and even before he finished asking, he knew the answer. He had experienced this sensation once before. 

Vilgax said nothing, opting instead to strip out of his cloak as Ben watched, transfixed. Vilgax was naked underneath, and the low light lent his strangely marbled skin an eerie glow. Ben had always known Vilgax was physically powerful, had felt the crushing strength of his fists in battle, but here, looking at him unclothed and unguarded, Ben felt a tendril of awe twisting through him. Every plane of his body seemed to be made of staggering, solid muscle, corded tight, and moving barely restrained beneath his skin. He had immense bulk to him, casting massive shadows over the walls as he went, folding his cloak and placing it in the far corner of the room. 

Memories of his last visit came to Ben, unbidden, and unwelcome, and Ben felt a flush blossom over his face and neck. He could almost feel the press of Vilgax's fingers at his thighs, the way he had held Ben open, and fucked an orgasm from him with the barest of efforts. Ben felt his breath quicken, could feel his pulse beating harshly in his neck. He shifted uncomfortably on the table and realized with a harsh jolt of shame, that he was half hard already. 

Vilgax turned to face him, and Ben drank in the sight. He had been blindfolded before, unable to form a picture, even in his imagination, because Vilgax was so foreign to him, and now he would not miss a single detail. His fate, he knew, was sealed, but if he could just memorize each moment, each defining factor that told him this was _Vilgax_ , his mortal enemy, then perhaps, he would be able to hang on to his rage long enough to take revenge. His mind, though, stumbled in confusion at what he saw. 

Where he had expected to see a cock, hanging long and thick at Vilgax's groin, there was only smooth green skin, marbled with red, and a pair of delicate folds, like those of a woman. Ben reeled. How was this possible? Was he hallucinating? Were the drugs really that powerful? He choked out a sound, and before he could stop himself, said, “How are you a girl?” 

Vilgax face warped into a scowl, his eyes flashing hard. “I am no female, Ben Tennyson. As you have evidenced yourself.” Ben watched, stomach turning in knots of horror and arousal as Vilgax pressed at his abdomen, fingers splayed on either side of the slit, rubbing gently. Then, slowly, as if it were amusing him to put on a show, he spread the folds, and his member slid forth. It was remarkably similar to a human cock, Ben mused. The shaft was long and thick, already hard under Vilgax's ministrations, and the head was flushed dark green, shining with what seemed to be some sort of clear secretion. 

Ben heard a mewling noise, and realized after a beat that it had come from him. He was fully hard now, his body primed to desperation by the drugs, and he had to press a palm to the base of his dick just to ground himself. 

Vilgax loomed over him, threatening him with a smile and said gruffly, “Not going to fight me this time?”

Ben swallowed hard, trying to clear his mind of the urgent desire to fuck long enough to give an answer. “No.” He groaned. “You and I both know I have no way of winning.” Another pause to gather his wits. “But we also both know that for every time you do this, I'm going to kick your ass. And then I'm going to kill you.” 

“Good,” Vilgax growled, and was upon him. 

There was no foreplay to be had here, and Ben was grateful. His proficiency for coherent thought had escaped him with his last statement, and now he had only the insatiable urge to climax. He let himself be maneuvered onto his back, one of Vilgax's hands holding both of Ben's wrists over his head, fingers tight like a vise, uncaring for the wrenching pain in his mending elbow. Ben could only pant and let his thighs fall open in invitation. 

The weight of Vilgax's heavy tentacles dragging on his chest as he leaned over Ben was tantalizing, and Ben pressed up into it, crying out at even the slight sensation of one moving against his nipple. Vilgax snarled and pressed Ben's wrists harder against the table, the bones seeming to grind together under the crushing strength of his grip. Ben gasped in pain, tears forming in his eyes, but could not find the will to protest. 

“Tell me Ben Tennyson, what it is you would like.” Vilgax spoke the words to Ben's face, his breath ghosting hot and humid across already flushed cheeks, and Ben had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the horrifying stab of Vilgax's gaze against his. 

For a moment, Ben found his obstinance again, clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together to keep from responding, but the illusion was shattered when Vilgax ghosted a finger down the length of his erection, just light enough to rip a moan from him. His eyes snapped open, and his vision was filled with Vilgax's smug face. Still, he was powerless to resist his body's demands. His pride was nothing when faced with the onslaught of stimulation. “Fuck me,” he gasped, and hated himself for his lack of will. 

Then, all thought was torn from him as he felt the head of Vilgax's cock at his hole. He pressed his hips down, tormented by this infuriatingly small contact. Vilgax responded in an instant, his free hand curling viciously into Ben's hip to hold him in place. 

There was a long moment where nothing happened. Vilgax remained still, seemingly relishing Ben's agony as Ben panted, and moaned, and tried his best to stay still. 

Finally, as Ben was about to begin to struggle again, Vilgax moved, pressing into Ben with a swift, slick motion, until his hips were flush against Ben's ass. The pain was immense - a horrifying stretch and burn, and a feeling of being entirely too full with no way to seek relief, but it was nothing compared to the pain he had endured up to now. He forced his body to relax, breathing deeply and focusing on his own arousal, curled hot in his belly. In the back of his mind, he was reminded of that strange, smooth slit that housed Vilgax's cock, and it sent another quick thrill of want through him. He whimpered, and Vilgax drew back.

The pace he set was as unforgiving as the first time, his long strokes landing hard and fast, pulling at Ben's slick hole, and pressing at something inside of him that made his cock twitch and leak. Ben strained against the iron grip on his wrists, and on his hip, careless of his injuries in his quest for more contact. To his surprise, Vilgax freed his hands, opting instead to take hold of his other hip, and pull Ben to him. The impact knocked the wind out of Ben, but his cock ached in response. 

As Vilgax continued at an even more brutal pace, Ben could only reach between them and fist his own erection, squeezing tight around the head and dragging his fingers through the slit with each pull. He could already feel his balls tightening as his orgasm burned in his gut, and in a few short moments, he fell over the edge with a loud groan. Vilgax didn't pause. Even as the hot spurt of Ben's come smeared over his tentacles, he only thrust harder, a low growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Ben Tennyson, aren't you ashamed?” Each word was punctuated with a thrust, and Ben felt short of breath as over-stimulation set in. He couldn't say anything, could only squeeze his eyes shut and hope it would end soon, hope he would forget how easily he had given in and begged to be fucked by this monster. 

Vilgax groaned, his hips stuttering to a stop, pressed fully into Ben as he came. 

Ben clenched his fists at his side and refused to open his eyes. He felt Vilgax pull out of him, his hole achingly empty, but for the thick ooze of semen dripping out of it. He listened as Vilgax gathered his cloak and exited the cell, and could not bring himself to move for a very long time. 

-

It had been over a month since Ben had charged off to battle against Vilgax and not come back. Forty six days since they had seen the video of his body, dead and broken, displayed in Vilgax's ship like some demented trophy, had analyzed it for authenticity, and realized that yes, it really was Ben, and he really was dead. It had taken this long for them to make arrangements. Ben was a hero, to the Earth, and to the Galaxy, and his funeral, Gwen had been determined, would reflect that. 

Kevin looked at the sky and scowled. It hardly seemed fitting that the sun was out, shining bright and warm, a cool breeze sweeping through to keep the day just perfectly mild. Ben was gone, and this was what the planet Earth had to say about it? He snarled, slamming his fist against the door jamb before heading back inside to wait for Gwen. 

The funeral would go on, with Plumbers and dignitaries from all quadrants coming to pay their respects, to sing the praises of Ben Tennyson, hero and icon. Then everyone would leave, and life would go on, and, for the most part, everyone would forget Ben Tennyson ever existed, except when those little reminders popped up. 

Kevin wouldn't forget. He would remember Ben Tennyson in every waking moment, for the rest of his existence. He would remember his life, and he would remember his death at the hands of Vilgax. 

He would remember, and one day, when the time came, he would have vengeance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings. This chapter contains non-con and rimming.

Ben laughed, a sudden, loud bark, echoing in the stark room. He wasn't sure what had brought it on, couldn't even recall what his train of thought had been, but the silence could be overwhelming sometimes, so he didn't question the noise. He chuckled - a quiet, chittering sound this time - and slid to his feet. Perhaps today, he would begin his exercise in the back left corner. 

Yes. The back left corner looked like a nice place for a stroll. 

He hummed a song to himself while he moved, taking laps around his room at varying speeds to keep himself interested. It was an old song, he thought. Maybe from a television show, or a game. He remembered he'd had a friend who liked it. But what had the show been called? 

He touched the wall and turned to walk the opposite direction for his next lap. Something about Sumo wrestlers. He stopped humming and gave a triumphant little shout, “Sumo Slammers!” That was definitely it. He remembered now, because he'd had a friend who liked it. If only he could remember his friend's name. 

He could remember the face. He could remember a lot of faces, but for some reason, the names evaded him. It was strange, he thought, touching the wall and switching to a high-kneed jog. He could even remember the early days, when he would spend his time chanting their names like a mantra, engraving the details of their faces, their personalities, their lives into his heart. The names themselves, though, were elusive. 

He sighed, wiping sweat from his brow, and pushing his hair out of his face. It was long enough to touch his shoulders now, and he smiled at the thought. One of the faces he remembered, one of the most important ones, had long hair. Long, and dark, and kind of unkempt, falling around a hard cut face that seemed so stern and mean, but was actually full of the most kindness Ben had ever seen, at least when it mattered. That face was family to him, along with a few others that he remembered daily.

Ben finished his exercises just as his supplies for the day arrived, and he pushed aside the thoughts of those important people to focus on his food. He ate quickly, forcing himself to ignore unease in his stomach as he worked to finish the plate. It had become more difficult lately, to eat the tasteless goop. He knew, conceptually, that this was his nourishment, was what kept him alive, but his body rejected it. There was no smell, no taste, no color, nothing to tell his body that this was food, and it made his stomach roil. His only recourse was to shut his eyes, and try to imagine it was something else, at least long enough to get it down. 

When he finished, he set the plate aside. He felt a small pang of relief and excitement when he realized there was a washrag tucked away under the tray. He wasn't allowed to bathe often, and the sight of the rag was enough bring a giddy smile to his face. There was no soap with the cloth, but even so, the chance to scrub at the layers of sweat that had dried on him, and to rinse the grease from his hair was exhilarating. 

He worked slowly, enjoying the feel of the rough, damp cloth on his skin, and of the water soaking him when he poured it over his head. There was a well under the table where the water gathered, and when he was an appropriate distance away, a drain would open to carry it away. Ben could remember a time when he'd tried to use the drain to his advantage, in an attempt to escape. Thinking back on it, he couldn't believe he'd ever been so foolish. He must have had a death wish back then, to rage so stupidly against hopeless odds. 

He knew better now, than to think he would ever leave this place, so instead he followed his routine, and looked forward to the days, like today, when something unusual happened. He held on to these moments, and to his memories of important faces, and he determined that, if nothing else, he would stay alive, because that's what one did in these situations. 

-

Vilgax sighed inwardly, and attempted to keep the cringe from overtaking his features. He could feel the stress of his restraint gathering in his neck and shoulders, solidifying into aching tension that spread through his head and came to a pounding rest behind his eyes. They were _dignitaries_ from a neighboring world, come to renegotiate the terms of their trade agreement.

Vilgax leaned forward in his seat, and the movement startled their leader to silence. “The terms of our agreement,” he began, voice a menacing echo in the conference hall. “Clearly state that, in exchange for your liberation from the Plagamalean threat, the import rights for mineral Six Seven Two C would be exclusively and permanently granted to Vilgaxia at a flat rate, regardless of future changes in export taxation and fees. Additionally, Clause 87, sub-heading B states that renegotiation of the treaty may occur only once every seventy five years. As it is, it has only been twenty two years since I personally defeated the Plagamalean army and removed the threat to your people, and while I am not unreasonable, as evidenced by my willingness to hold council, despite the stipulations put forth in Clause 87, sub-heading B, you present me with no compelling reason to renegotiate terms at this time. If that is the only reason for your visit, I hereby put forth a motion to conclude our meeting so that we may all proceed with the rest of our day unwasted.” 

With that, he stood, cast a questioning gaze about the room, and, upon receiving no objections from the thoroughly cowed visitors, turned to leave. He had little patience for such proceedings, though he knew it best to exercise basic courtesy, for diplomacy's sake. Enough, however, was enough, and he breathed a small sigh of relief as the doors to the chamber closed behind him with a resounding thud. 

It wasn't until much later, when he had bathed and eaten, and was settling in to read his evening reports, that he remembered he'd had plans for his evening. In the stress of the day's negotiations, he had forgotten that he'd had a washrag sent to Ben Tennyson, with the intent that he should at least be cleansed of his foul stench when Vilgax came to visit punishment upon him. The revelation brought a small thrill, and where before he had been feeling exhausted, he now felt revitalized. 

It had been quite some time since he had seen fit to deal with his prisoner, and he was sure that, by now, Tennyson must have been positively on edge, wondering when the next strike would come. It pleased Vilgax to imagine it, to think about how Ben Tennyson's entire world now revolved around him, around wondering when next he would choose to remind him of his subjugation. Yes, tonight would be a lovely night to visit shame upon Ben Tennyson. 

The boy was lying spread eagle on the table, staring at the ceiling and humming an inane, repetitive tune when Vilgax arrived. Vilgax felt a sneer pulling at his mouth, and a sound of disgust escaped him before he could stop it. Tennyson turned to look at him in response, his face falling blank. He said nothing as Vilgax crossed the short distance to him, only dropped his head further to the side to expose his neck. 

Vilgax paused. Where was the hatred? The rage? Where was any reaction at all? Never had Ben Tennyson been so complacent. It was disconcerting. He frowned. Perhaps the energy would return to him when the drugs took hold. 

The click and hiss of the hypo discharging seemed particularly loud in the near silence of the cell. Vilgax watched carefully for Tennyson's reaction, waiting patiently for any sign of discomfiture. He showed none, even as his skin began to flush, and his breath became quick. He merely laid still, eyes shut against the onslaught, fists clenched at his sides. 

Vilgax scoffed and threw the syringe to the drain, utterly repulsed. What was he to do with this...dead thing? Ben Tennyson's body reacted, his cock already laid flush against his stomach, but his face remained impassive, his mouth silent, but for the small, wounded animal noises he made. 

Vilgax stood there for a long while, observing, perplexed and more than a little vexed at this turn of events. He watched as Tennyson writhed, desperate and wanting, but trained well not to touch himself without express permission. It would seem he had broken his prisoner too well, and was now left with nothing but a shell, incapable of experiencing the abhorrent crush of shame and defeat that Vilgax so fiercely wished to visit upon him. 

He scowled. This would not do at all. He was going to have to work now, to restore this wriggling mass of inferiority to some vestige of his former existence. This cell, it seemed, did not serve his purposes as he had hoped, and now he would have to formulate a new method of punishment – a method that would preserve Ben Tennyson, and allow his domination to be fully savored. 

“Vilgax?” He was broken from his thoughts by the sound of Tennyson's voice choking over his name, like some mewling, housebroken beast. His lip curled as he took in the sight before him. He'd left the boy too long to the drugs, and he was becoming feverish, sweat gleaming on his skin in the dim light as he fidgeted, unable to keep still, even for a moment. Vilgax sighed, resigning himself to remedying the issue, for the sake of keeping Ben Tennyson alive for future punishment. 

He put a hand on Ben's hip, and the boy surged up against him with a strangled gasp. His skin was uncomfortably hot to the touch, and for a brief moment, Vilgax wondered what the most appropriate way to relieve his symptoms would be. Simply telling him to care for himself wouldn't do at this point – his brain was far too addled by drug and fever to be able to succeed at even so simple a task. Vilgax would not fuck him either – he was too disgusting a sight in his current state, and there was no hope for Vilgax to coax his own body to readiness in his presence. He wrapped his fingers loosely around Tennyson's erection, stroking him absentmindedly as he continued his musing. 

Briefly, he considered just bringing him to completion like this, but quickly discarded the thought, knowing that the satisfaction would not be as thorough, and would thus be less likely to dispel the fever. He scolded himself again for administering the drugs before ascertaining that the subject would be satisfying to him, and continued thinking. Ben pressed into his hand fervently, a steady stream of noises pouring out of him, making it difficult to focus. 

Penetration, Vilgax decided, was the best way to go about this, though it would be difficult without the secretions from his own body to ease the process. He sighed again, vocalizing his discontent with a grunt. “On your knees, Ben Tennyson, before I change my mind and leave you succumb to fever.” 

Ben complied quickly, scrabbling gracelessly onto all fours before dropping forward onto his elbows, body trembling. For a moment, Vilgax did nothing, merely stood quietly and took in the sight of his prisoner. His knees were spread wide, shamelessly revealing himself, desperate for any sort of contact or release. It was, Vilgax conceded, a marginally titillating image, were it not for the identity of the subject.

He ran a finger experimentally over Tennyson's hole, rubbing gently at the puckered flesh. The room echoed with the sound of Tennyson's garbled moan, and the grating, high-pitched noise of his sweating flesh sliding over the smooth metal of the table. Vilgax frowned, resigning himself to the situation. He would do this, simply to buy himself the pleasure of breaking Ben Tennyson even further in the future. 

The boy was radiating heat, enough that Vilgax could feel a flush rising over his own face, and the smell of sex was cloying in the humid air. The taste of him, though, was surprisingly mild. He had washed thoroughly, it seemed, and Vilgax found himself feeling begrudgingly thankful for that fact. He gripped Tennyson's hips firmly, annoyed with the amount of force required to keep him still, but vaguely satisfied by the idea of the bruises his fingers were sure to leave. 

He set a slow pace, pressing his tongue flat against Tennyson's hole, lapping at him delicately as the boy squirmed, filling the room with the sounds of his wanton desperation. He took his time, working to coax the muscle to relaxation before firming his tongue to a point and pressing in. Tennyson whined, loud and shrill, and surged back against him, chest heaving with his panting breath. Vilgax snarled inwardly and gripped harder at his hips, felt the sharp tips of his fingers breaking flesh in an effort to keep from sliding over sweat slick skin. 

He licked at Tennyson a while longer, fucking him open expertly with his tongue, until there was sweat and precome dripping on the table below, and the boy was muttering a quiet stream of nonsense. He drew away then, slapped viciously at Tennyson's flank, drawing a sharp cry from him, and said, “On your back. My patience wears thin.” 

Again, Ben Tennyson complied quickly and clumsily, slip-sliding off of his knees, slamming his elbow and the back of his head hard enough to elicit a sympathy wince from Vilgax, but still, he spread his knees and canted his hips upward in a reckless, open plea. Vilgax sneered, bearing down on him viciously, one hand grasping again at his hip, and the other probing at his hole. Ben struggled to push against him, but lost his purchase as his heel slid on the slick metal, slamming down harshly once again. Vilgax smiled and pressed two fingers into the boy at once. 

He was still tight, and it was an effort to fully penetrate him, but he seemed to collapse in relief at the feel of it, and when Vilgax looked, he saw tears of relief flowing out of closed eyes. Vilgax huffed an angry noise and twisted his wrist savagely as he pulled his fingers out. Tennyson cried out again, scrabbling for purchase on the table as Vilgax pushed back in. 

In moments, Tennyson had degenerated into a fit of sobs, resigned to his inability to move against Vilgax, yet frantically wanting more contact. Vilgax pushed at him again, and was sure that, when he was finished, the hole would be left torn and sensitive for days. It gave him a small thrill to think of such suffering, and it was with significantly less bitterness the he took Tennyson's erection in his mouth. 

Strangely, the taste of his cock was pungent compared to that of his hole, an explosion of bitter, salty flavor overtaking Vilgax's tongue immediately, causing him to grimace. He had committed now, though, and would not stop until this disturbing exercise was complete. So he worked his tongue delicately over the shaft, curling it into the leaking tip as he pulled off in time with the merciless thrust of his wrist. He sucked delicately at the head for a moment, and then took the entire length again. It was searing hot on his tongue, and distractedly, he wondered if it would burn him.

It did not take much longer before he felt Tennyson's fingers slipping over his own where they gripped his hip, bloody and sweat drenched. “I'm going to-” his voice was choked, and before he could complete the statement, there was an explosion of slick, vile heat on Vilgax's pallet. He pulled back as though he'd been struck, removing his fingers unceremoniously as he spat the contents of his mouth onto Tennyson's stomach, where the rest of his ejaculate had landed. 

Tennyson, for his part, sprawled on the table, looking helpless to move, despite the mess he was stewing in. It made Vilgax's stomach turn to look at him. “How revolting you are, Ben Tennyson. What must your friends think of you, that you submit without shame or remorse?” 

Tennyson turned to look at him, head lolling weakly as his eyes lit up. “My friends?” His voice was wrecked, like he'd been screaming for weeks, but his breath was quickening again, and suddenly, Vilgax saw something of the prisoner he'd thought he'd broken. “What are their names?” 

Vilgax smiled, delighted and cruel. “You don't remember? How reprehensible. You submit so easily, and then forget the names of those who cared for you most? Your pathetic Anodite cousin Gwendolyn and her thuggish lapdog, Kevin Levin.” 

He watched as Tennyson's face fell, and where there had been only a blank, unfeeling mask before, agony crept in, etching lines of sorrow around his eyes, and pulling his mouth tight over clenched teeth. 

Vilgax laughed and turned to leave. The evening, it seemed, had not been entirely a waste, after all. 

-

Gwen knelt in the grass, running her fingers through the soft, green stalks, taking what joy she could from the feel of vibrant life skittering over her skin. Ben's tombstone loomed heavy and dark before her, shadow cast long under the high, spring sun, and she couldn't stop the overwhelming sense of helplessness that settled in her. Even now, after a year, she couldn't believe he was gone, not when she could still feel his mana hanging heavy in the air, strong and alive, despite the proof of his brutal demise. 

She had searched for him, endlessly at first, and then less and less frequently, until she had very nearly stopped altogether. Still, though, she couldn't help the instinct, when she passed by a room he had occupied, or came across his jacket, hung reverently in Kevin's closet, as if merely waiting for his return. She wanted to reach out, stretch her senses thin, until she had no energy left to expend, but she knew it was pointless, knew that Ben wouldn't want her to run herself down looking for his corpse. When she had pushed herself too far, Kevin had reminded her, none too gently. 

She pressed her hand to the stone, cool and smooth under her palm, and her throat felt tight. It seemed strange that this, their monument to his life, was so utterly devoid of him. It had a life of it's own, the energy of the earth twined into the minerals, but it was not painted with Ben's energy as it would've been, were he buried here. It was nothing but an empty symbol.

She felt tears on her cheeks before she even realized they had gathered in her eyes, and couldn't help the sob that escaped her. 

It had been a year now, since Ben had died, since they had watched him go into battle, and been unable to lift a finger to save him when he fell. One year, and all she had was the haunting, empty pit inside of her, telling her that he wasn't dead, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

She wept, messy and earnest, grasping futilely at the barren stone before her, and wishing she could believe he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I gave some names to other Vilgaxian citizens, and based on the few canon names we know, I decided to apply the rule that two x's are for feminine names and one x is an indicator of a male name. That may be silly, but that's just what I did. XD  
> Also, please forgive any typos. I always edit multiple times, but I usually still end up missing something. O_O
> 
> Lastly, please heed the warnings! In addition to non-con, this chapter contains possible suicide and self-harm triggers!

Ben was bored, and the absurdity of that fact was not lost on him. He'd heard stories of people in situations like his - captured, kept in solitary, abused - and all of them had some drive-home point about staying angry, and remembering where they came from, and staying sane by promising themselves revenge, or freedom, or what the fuck ever else they wanted. They never mentioned how boring it all was, how difficult it was to stay angry, to keep hope, to remember what things had been like before, when every day was a singularly monotonous grind towards the next plate of goop. 

He wanted to scream and yell, to try to escape like he had in the old days, to kill himself (he could still make another shank out of a water jug, could shove it in his own neck, or slice his arms open from wrist to elbow), but he hadn't the energy for it, hadn't the will to override his own sense of self-preservation. He wanted to fight, to wage war on Vilgax, even if it meant depriving him of his spoils. He wanted to do something, _anything_ that he could be proud of. He wanted to know that, if he had ever found a way out, he would've been able to tell a heroic story, with a drive-home point about hope and bravery, instead of having to admit that he was deficient, too weak to fit in with those other heroes, who would not have given up. More than anything, it seemed, his body wanted to survive, and would do anything to achieve that goal, including sitting quietly, resigned to his fate, driven mad with boredom and guilt. 

He imagined Kevin and Gwen (he remembered their names again, now) would be ashamed of him, of his inability to take action for himself. He thought that, if they ever did come for him, they'd probably want to kill him themselves, knowing that he'd given in to Vilgax so many times, and hadn't once tried to exact any sort of damage on him. He was pretty sure their faces would warp into angry, disgusted sneers if they knew how many times he'd wanted to kill himself, just to deprive Vilgax of the pleasure, but been too weak-willed to follow through. He could practically see Kevin looking at him coldly, asking him why he hadn't done it, while Gwen stood back and said nothing. Why had he let Vilgax use him? Why hadn't he tried to shank Vilgax the way he'd tried to shank the medic? Why hadn't he, at least, deprived Vilgax of his prize and just killed himself? He couldn't answer, even in this imaginary scenario. He could only sit, staring blankly ahead, and wait for his food to come. 

The days when the boredom became unbearable were the worst. Most of the time, allowing his thoughts to turn to his family was enough to distract him, enough to drown him in the weight of his own guilt and keep him, if not sane, then at least placated. Those days were the good ones. They were the days that he felt secure in his position, knowing that, despite his weakness, he was still on the right side. Those days, he at least felt sure. It was the days when those thoughts weren't enough that made him feel broken, and scared, and _wrong_. 

The first time it had happened, it had sent him reeling. He'd been laying on the table, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, throat burning and stomach woozy from having vomited his meal. It was only a minor discomfort, comparatively, and yet, he found himself desperately wishing for relief. He had thought that his body had grown used to his new life, and the little pains that came with it, but on that day, it was too much. Before he even realized his train of thought, he found himself wishing fervently for Vilgax to come. With Vilgax came the drugs, and with the drugs came pleasure, and warmth, and escape, all of which he wanted. 

As soon as the thought had solidified in his mind, he had flinched away, body twisting violently, as though he'd been hit, while his mind stumbled and balked. “No!” He'd said out loud, and the sound of his voice, shrill and terrified, had echoed in the cell for what seemed like ages. 

For several weeks after that, Ben avoided thinking of his situation at all, opting instead to spend his time counting the hairs on his arms, and legs, and groin, or to exercise so vigorously that he was unable to think at all. It wasn't until he slipped during his workout, twisting his ankle in such a way that it swelled immediately, and caused pain to lance up his leg, that he allowed his thoughts to become once more occupied with his predicament. It wasn't long after that, as he lay on the floor, ankle propped on the table, pain causing his breath to come in short, agonizing bursts, that he imagined Vilgax coming again. 

This time, he had indulged himself, too weary to pull away from the thought of relief. Vilgax had not been to see him in quite some time (weeks, maybe even months - Ben had lost count of the days), and Ben imagined it was almost time for another visit. It made his heart clench, his chest feeling too full as it pressed at the flesh confining it in a steady pulse. He wanted Vilgax to come, to drug him, and fuck him, and, for even the briefest of moments, to steal away his pain and all other thoughts. It was his only form of escape, and he could not bring himself to push the possibility away. 

Vilgax had not come, and he had fallen asleep lost in the fantasy. When he had awoken, he had broken a shard of plastic from his water jug, pressed it to his wrist hard enough to conjure a small well of blood, and sat like that for a long time before he tossed the plastic away, and collapsed into a sobbing heap. 

Since then, he'd had as many bad days as good. 

Today had started off well enough. His ankle was mostly healed, too tender still for hard exercise, but mended enough that he could walk gently on it without a limp. He had taken several leisurely laps around the room before his meal came, had stomached the food with little trouble, and had, for the most part, managed to avoid the restless itch of boredom that tended to lead his mind uncomfortable places. As he watched his empty tray disappear under the table, he wondered, for what must have been the millionth time, how the mechanism worked - whether is was computerized, or if someone was there, sending his meal to him every day. It didn't really matter, he supposed, but curiosity was one way to satiate his starving mind. 

He imagined there was some tentacle-faced, alien lunch lady begrudgingly scooping out his daily serving of glop and sending it to him through an elaborate tube transport system that ended under his table. He wondered if she knew the identity of the recipient of her culinary masterpiece, and was just getting down to imagining what she thought of him when the sound of the door locks clicking open drew his attention. 

Suddenly, his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, and a prickle of sweat broke out over his skin. Excitement and fear flooded him, breaking in waves against his brain, and he could hear blood rushing in his ears. Even as he dreaded what would come, relief took hold. He felt bile rising in his throat and swallowed hard. 

The door slid open with a hiss, and all thoughts were replaced with confusion. It wasn't Vilgax, but two other members of his species. Ben balked, frozen in place, unable to process this new information. Suddenly, he wished to be bored again. This was too much to take in after so long living under the shroud of monotony. They stood in the doorway and watched him for a very long moment. 

“Ben Tennyson.” One of them finally spoke in a soft, feminine voice that sounded almost...afraid. Of him? He wondered. 

“Vilgax has ordered that you come with us.” The second was also female, but spoke with much more confidence. “If you do not comply, we have been ordered to have the guards subdue you.”

Ben nodded mutely and took a lurching step forward. He wondered who these females were, wondered why they were here, where they were taking him. He took another step, short and shuffling, watching them warily. Perhaps his time here was finally done. It would make sense that Vilgax would grow tired of him. There was no reason to keep him alive if he was no longer sexually interesting. Ben greeted the thought with a thrill of fear, but took another step forward nonetheless. He was nearly at the cell door now, and the females stepped aside to allow him room to exit. 

Perhaps this was for the best. He had been unable to gather the courage to end his own life, and now Vilgax would take the decision from him. Vilgax had realized what Ben had discovered months ago: this prisoner had no worth. Ben steeled himself, resolved not to struggle, and was glad to have the choice to follow through finally removed from his hands. He stepped into the hall warily, and the two mechanical sentries guarding his door fell in behind him. 

The more soft spoken of the two females turned to him and said quietly, “If you would follow us, please.” He could only nod and do as he was told. 

It was strange to be out of his cell after so long, and even the dim light of the hallway seemed bright to him. The walls were made of the same dull metal as his cell, with lights lining the ceiling. Every so often, they would pass another pair of sentries, and Ben had to assume they were guarding other occupied cells. It had never occurred to him that he wasn't the only prisoner, and briefly, he wondered if he weren't the only one that Vilgax visited. 

Perhaps that was why he was finally going to be executed. Had Vilgax found another prisoner that was more satisfying? Someone of his own species perhaps? Someone who wasn't as disgustingly willing to give in without a fight? For a quick moment, Ben's pride ached. Even knowing his own lack of worth, it made jealousy flare in him to think he was being executed only because a more interesting prisoner had come along. Did his past heroics mean nothing? He felt a scowl pulling at his face as he considered it. 

He was distracted from his thoughts when they came to a halt in front of an elevator. For the first time, he wondered what type of building they were in. Was it only a prison? If so, where would the elevator go? An execution chamber, perhaps. Though, it seemed to Ben that Vilgax would want to execute him publicly. If that was the case, then, perhaps they were in Vilgax's stronghold. The doors opened silently, and Ben felt his jaw drop the slightest bit. 

The inside of the elevator was...opulent. The walls were a rich, deep blue with intricate gold designs running the trim. The light was bright enough that Ben had to look down and squint upon entering, and, though he didn't recognize the markings on the controls, there were more buttons than he could easily count. On the inside doors was painted a large insignia: a black octopus in a blue circle, laid over a sunburst of gold filigree. It was stunning, though it made his eyes ache to look at it, after so long without color in his surroundings. 

He didn't know how long they were on the elevator, but it seemed like at least a few minutes. The lights on the control console were flashing in a quick pattern, and he wondered absently what it meant. He was going to die without ever knowing, but, in the scheme of things, he figured that probably didn't matter. When the doors opened again, one of the females (he couldn't tell them apart when they weren't speaking), touched his elbow gently, indicating he should follow them out. He went, and the sentries followed, closer on his heels than before. 

The hallways here were even more impressive than the elevators. The floors were made of smooth, pale marble, and the walls were draped with thick tapestries, all emblazoned with the same insignia as the elevator doors. There were huge, vaulted windows, flooding the path with bright, yellow light, and it made the stone warm under Ben's bare feet. It was luxurious, and Ben reveled in it, glad to have felt the sun, and the touch of something other than metal or Vilgax before his death. 

When they came to a stop, it was in front of a wide, metal door. It looked out of place in the bright hallway, and Ben felt dread drop heavy in his stomach. This was it, he was sure. They were going to walk through this door, and he was going to die. He breathed deep, trying to steady his suddenly racing heart. He was not going to fight this. He had tried and failed to make the choice, the least he could do was to go with dignity. He would die honorably, so that Gwen, and Kevin, and Grandpa Max would be able to feel proud of him if news ever made it their way. 

One of his escorts had typed a code into a pad on the door, and he listened as the locks clicked, and the door hissed open. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to look into the room beyond. For the second time in recent minutes, confusion hit him like a fist in the gut. It wasn't an execution chamber, at least not as far as he could tell. It was...it was a bedroom, and a rather lavishly decorated one at that. Was this Vilgax's room? He entertained the thought for a moment before deciding that, no, it wasn't _that_ lavishly decorated. 

His two escorts entered and turned, seemingly waiting for him to follow. He could only stare at them, utterly befuddled. After a long moment, one of the sentries pressed a fist into the small of his back and he stumbled over the threshold. The sound of the door rushing shut behind him startled him out of his reverie well enough to find his tongue, and he stuttered out a raspy, “What is this?” 

One of his escorts quirked her head slightly and replied softly, as though the question confused her, “These are your new accommodations, Ben Tennyson.” 

Ben's jaw dropped open, and he sputtered for a moment before he could respond. “You mean, I'm not being executed?” 

Understanding dawned on her features, and she smiled, ever so slightly, “No, Ben Tennyson.”

The other escort's face remained hard, but her tone wasn't as caustic as it had been when she said, “We're here to make you more presentable, and to familiarize you with your new chambers.” She paused and frowned. “Do not make trouble. The sentries are standing guard, and will not hesitate to come to our defense.” 

Ben could only shake his head in mute agreement as relief blossomed, bright-hot and painful in him. He swallowed, his throat feeling tight, and tried to ignore the way his eyes stung, as though he were on the verge of tears. He wasn't going to die. Somehow, he was being rewarded for his utter weakness. He looked at his two escorts, wide eyed and speechless, unable to comprehend this turn of events. They watched him, patiently, waiting to see what he would do. 

He surveyed the room as he attempted to boot his brain back into coherence. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of the same creamy marble as the hallway, though there were no windows here – a security risk they were not willing to take, he was sure. Nevertheless, the rich neutrality of the stone was nothing short of inspiring after so long locked away in the harsh metal box of his cell. The floors were covered in thick rugs, made of what looked like some sort of fur, and the walls were draped in the same vibrant tapestries he'd seen hanging outside. In the middle of it all was a bed, covered in what had to be the fluffiest looking blankets he'd ever seen, and drowning in a multitude of pillows, all in the same deep blue. In the back left corner of the room, there was an open archway, and through it, Ben saw what looked to be an actual, fully equipped bathroom. 

It made him feel weak in the knees taking it all in, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse under the sheer weight of his own relief. He looked back at the two escorts, vision swimming a bit, and his voice was, at best, a warble, when he asked, “What am I supposed to do?” 

The one on the right (the nicer of the two) smiled at him again. “Come with us. We are going to bathe you, and then you will be groomed.” She turned, but seemed to think better of it and looked to him again. “You may call me Almitaxx. My companion is Contumaxx. I hope that, despite the circumstances, things between us will be pleasant, Ben Tennyson.” Her tone was sweet, but Ben thought that perhaps this was her more subtle version of a warning. 

He nodded. “I learned a long time ago the price of causing trouble here.” He looked down, taking in the shining scar on his shoulder, the warped knobbiness of his elbow, and was unsure if he was more ashamed to admit his past defeat, or to revel in his current complacency. Either way, it burned like hot coals in his belly. 

“A lesson best remembered.” Contumaxx spoke gruffly, but when he glanced up at her, there was understanding in her expression. 

For the first time, Ben wondered what position these two held in Vilgax's house. He thought better of asking, and said instead, “Don't worry, I have no intention of forgetting.” 

There was another long moment of silence and stillness, as though none of them were sure how to proceed, and then Ben shifted on his feet, coughed, and mumbled, “So...I guess we should get started.” 

Almitaxx laughed, a small, tinkering kind of sound that seemed strange coming from such a bulky body, and Ben couldn't help the small pull of a smile. “As you wish, Ben Tennyson. The bath is through here.” 

He followed her obediently, and Contumaxx fell in behind him, her gaze hard on his back. He did his best to ignore her, watching absently as Almitaxx prepared the bath. 

The tub was massive – large enough to fit at least four of him, he thought, and it looked positively magnificent. Set into one of the walls, it looked to be carved from one large slab of marble. The water poured from a gold fixture in the wall, and Almitaxx seemed to be adjusting the flow and temperature at a dial near the edge. The tub, and in fact, the entire room, seemed to be remarkably human in design, despite small, high-tech quirks here and there. It was...comforting, though he wasn't quite sure what to make of that. 

Almitaxx moved away from the dial then, and drew a vial from the folds of her robes. Ben's heart quickened, panic setting in before he even registered the change, and he asked almost hysterically, “What is that?”

Almitaxx laughed again, the same twittering sound, and Ben was almost entirely sure it wasn't malicious. “It is a scented oil, Ben Tennyson. I will put it in the bathwater, and once you are clean, you will smell of the Vilgaxian Pearl Lily.” 

Ben felt his heart slow again, and was lightheaded from the sudden change in anxiety levels. 

“You have nothing to fear from us, Ben Tennyson. It is our duty to make you comfortable and presentable, so that Lord Vilgax may put you to the best possible use.” Contumaxx's voice was quiet and stern behind him, but lacked any real severity. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I'm not used to things being innocuous anymore.” He tried for a sheepish smile, but was pretty sure he failed. “You can call me Ben, by the way.” 

“As you wish, Ben. The bath is ready.” Almitaxx stepped aside, and gestured for Ben to get in the tub. For a brief moment, he hesitated, then, reminding himself how ridiculous he was being, he stepped forward.

The water rushed around him, hot enough to be uncomfortable, and scented almost sickly sweet, but it had been so long since he'd had a real bath, he couldn't help but sigh as he sank to his knees, and then down into a sit. For a long time, Almitaxx and Contumaxx allowed him to simply sit, relaxing as the water flowed around him, the steam wafting through the air, but then Almitaxx knelt beside the tub and said, “If you would wet your head, please, Ben, we have been asked to ensure that you are cleansed.”

Ben nodded, and sank under the water, squeezing his eyes shut as it rushed around him. When he came back up, Almitaxx motioned him closer to the edge, and Contumaxx took hold of his shoulder, encouraging him to turn his back to them. He moved with their direction without protest, reveling in the warm push of the water on his skin. 

“I am going to soap your hair, you may want to close your eyes.” 

Ben did as he was told, and a moment later, Almitaxx's fingers were in his hair, massaging gently until he could feel the lather dripping down his back. It was heavenly. In fact, he was hard pressed to remember a time when anything had ever felt better. At the same time, Contumaxx took hold of his arm, firm, but not unkind, and began scrubbing at him with a soft cloth. He momentarily considered telling them that he was perfectly capable of doing these things himself, but then Almitaxx fingers pressed into his scalp more firmly, and it felt so good, he thought better of the idea. 

After a short while, Almitaxx drew away, and he could hear her splashing her hands in the water as she said, “That's finished, if you would rinse please.” Contumaxx released his arm, and he complied, sinking under the water again, and running his hands through his hair until he was certain all the suds were gone. When he came back up, he pushed the long strands away from his face, and gathered them over one shoulder, so that his entire back was exposed. 

The two of them worked gently, but thoroughly, scrubbing at each part of him until his skin felt almost new to him. They drew the wash cloths over his arms and shoulders, across his neck and down his back before asking him to turn around and working just as diligently on his chest. 

It occurred to him, when they asked him to stand and began delicately washing his groin, that he ought to be embarrassed. He could still remember that bathing and nakedness were meant to be kept to private or very intimate moments, and yet, he could not dredge up the anxiety he knew he should be feeling. Almitaxx and Contumaxx seemed unaffected by the situation, and he had been relegated to nakedness for so long, it seemed he had lost his own sense of shame as well. 

He wondered if this was another failing on his part – just one more way in which he had given in, when he should have remained defiant. 

Almitaxx asked him to turn, and Contumaxx pushed at his back, encouraging him to bend at the waist. He did as he was told, braced his hands on the smooth stone of the wall as they worked, hands and cloth soft against the curve of his ass, and then spreading him open and rubbing gently at his hole as well. He didn't blame them for being so thorough, if it was their job to make him presentable, and their approach was so kind, it actually felt rather nice. He tried not to think about the implications of allowing himself to simply enjoy the considerate attention. 

When they had finished their ministrations, Contumaxx set to work draining the tub, and Almitaxx retrieved a towel for him to step into. They allowed him to dry himself, and he did so thoroughly, luxuriating in the delicate, fluffy feel of the material. When he finished, he was directed to sit on a small stool in front of the counter, and Contumaxx stepped forward with a strange device in hand. Ben eyed it warily. “What is that for?” 

Contumaxx smiled for the first time since they had retrieved him. “We use them for shearing our livestock. We have been ordered to shorten your hair.”

“So, I'm livestock now?” Ben couldn't help his sardonic tone. 

Almitaxx giggled, and he thought she sounded a bit embarrassed when she replied, “Not quite, but as our species is hairless, we have no need of the appropriate grooming devices. The shears will have to do.” 

Ben gave a small smile, and felt a slight twinge of guilt for making her feel bad. “Well, whatever you use, it will be a relief to get rid of all this hair.” Almitaxx dipped her head in agreement, and Contumaxx set to work. 

It didn't take her long to trim his hair back to a pretty close semblance of his old cut. It was strange, looking at the mirror and seeing himself, ghostly pale, and thinner than he'd ever been, with the same wild mop of hair, cowlick and all. It made a lump rise in his throat, and he looked away, for fear that he might lose it. 

After that, they led him back into the main chamber, and showed him to a small closet that he had not noticed before. The door, like the exit, was metal, sealed with a computerized lock. Contumaxx hit the code, and turned to him. “You may wear anything you wish, though the door will be kept locked during the day. From now on, one or both of us will be in to see you, and to make sure you are groomed and presentable at any given moment.” 

Again, Ben was struck speechless, incapable of any response but to nod, mouth dropped open in surprise. There were _clothes_ in the closet. Real person clothes, meant for him to wear. He reached out a hand, and realized it was shaking as he tested the fabric between his fingers. It was soft to the touch, like a mix of cotton and silk, and he thought he could actually feel himself gearing up to really cry as he imagined putting it on. 

Almitaxx removed the piece he was holding from its hook, along with a second item and stepped back. The closet door slid shut, startling Ben, but she only smiled and handed him the items. Ben took them from her, and looked at them for a long time before he could pull himself together enough to put them on. 

It was only a simple shirt and a pair of loose pants, both in black, but even so, it felt like some sort of royal privilege. He looked at Almitaxx. 

“Why is Vilgax doing this? I thought he would execute me.”

She smiled at him, soft, and perhaps even a little sad. “It is not our place to understand Lord Vilgax's decisions, but to carry out his commands faithfully. However, I do not feel it would be remiss to say, Lord Vilgax holds you in very high esteem among the ranks of his enemies, and your willing subjugation brings great hope and pride to our people. You are a symbol Ben, of our leader's prowess and dedication to our planet. He would not discard you so easily.” 

He felt like he'd run headlong into a solid wall, shame rising slimy and sickening in him as his stomach turned. His _willing subjugation_ she had said. They knew he would not fight back, knew he had submitted to Vilgax, knew he was too weak to put an end to it in the only way he actually had the power to do so. They knew, and it was a source of... _national pride_ for them. He felt dizzy, and stumbled back, looking for a place to sit. Contumaxx caught him, and led him to the bed, where he collapsed in a heap, trying hard not to vomit, or break down crying, or start hyperventilating, or all of the above at once. 

He looked up at the two of them, vision blurring at the edges, and they looked back for what seemed like an eternity before Almitaxx spoke again. “Perhaps it's best if we leave you to rest.” Ben couldn't respond, but it didn't seem to matter. They turned to leave, the door hissing shut behind them, and the locks clicking back into place almost inaudibly. 

He thought it must have been hours before he was able to move, though he had no way of telling for sure. He wanted to get up, to search his room for something sharp, or to attempt to fashion a noose out of his clothing, or bedding, or those fucking Vilgaxian tapestries on his wall. He wanted to figure out the controls for the bath, fill it with cold water and hold himself under until he lost consciousness. He wanted to prove that he wasn't weak, that he was capable of making the choice, that he had pride of his own. He wanted to make his own people proud, not be a symbol of Vilgaxian superiority. He wanted to have the strength to end this, but instead, he laid down, head on a pillow, soft cloth against his skin, and he slept. 

The next day, Almitaxx came alone, carrying with her a tray, and before she even entered, he could smell the acrid, enticing, mouthwatering scent of coffee. His stomach clenched and heaved, and he reeled at the powerful stench, but still, he _wanted_ it. When she came in, he saw not only the coffee, but a plate with his normal goop, and a very small mound of rice. 

He could feel saliva pooling under his tongue as he looked at the tray, waiting for Almitaxx to give it to him. She smiled sweetly. “Good morning, Ben.” 

He couldn't find it in himself to return her smile, but he mumbled a small, “Good morning.” 

She set the tray in front of him, saying gently, “Please eat slowly. Your body will take time to reacclimate to solid foods.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, and took a very small bite of the rice. The flavor exploded over his tongue, warm, and fresh, with a slightly chewy texture. It was, by far, the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten. 

After that, he continued slowly, alternating between bites of his usual goop and the rice, in an effort to make it last. It wasn't until his entire plate was clear that he turned to the coffee. He didn't think he would be able to finish the cup, but he wanted to taste it at least. 

He spent a long moment holding the cup near his face, inhaling the pungent steam and letting the warmth sink into his palms before taking a tiny, tentative sip. The taste washed hot and crisp over his tongue, like a mouthful of chocolate flavored mud, and he very nearly gagged trying to swallow it, and again trying to keep it down. Still, it made his chest feel tight with the swell of his joy, and he couldn't help but take another small sip, before reaching for his water to wash it down. 

Each day after that brought with it some new delight. First it was toast, then a banana, then a glass of genuine orange juice, a piece of chocolate, an apple, a slice of cheese – Ben cherished them all. He didn't know why he was being rewarded, but he didn't dare to question it, for fear that he would be thrown back to his cell, naked and starved for any comfort, where it was impossible to forget, even for a moment, that he was a prisoner. 

Still, as the days passed him by, he began to wonder in earnest what the purpose of this was. Was Vilgax simply lulling him into a false sense of security, waiting for him to become complacent, so that his next strike would be better equipped to damage? Ben wished he knew, had even gone so far as to ask Almitaxx and Contumaxx again, but they were maddeningly unhelpful. It wasn't until he found himself wishing once again for Vilgax to come, simply to end his curiosity, that he realized those thoughts were best left alone. He did not wish to see Vilgax, did not wish to be reminded of his infuriating inability to make the honorable decision, did not wish to remember exactly how deep the well of his shame truly went. Most of all, though, he didn't want Vilgax to come and take all of his new comforts away. 

Of course, Ben was still Vilgax's prisoner, and, try as he might to avoid the thought, it was inevitable that Vilgax would come to him at some point. On the morning that it happened, Ben was still sleeping when the door opened, drawing him into a groggy, waking haze. By now, he had grown able to tell Contumaxx and Almitaxx apart at a glance, and he turned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, to see who would greet him today. 

Immediately, panic slid icy fingers around his chest, squeezing tight until each beat of his heart felt like a knife scraping at his lungs. Vilgax only stood, tray in hand, watching as Ben scrambled out of the bed, alarmed and already sweating profusely in his agitation. When he realized he had nowhere to go, he stilled, body stiff, and said in a choked whisper, “Vilgax.”

Vilgax smiled, a cruel sneer, and gave a deep, grotesque laugh as he stepped forward, moving quickly into Ben's space, and setting the tray on the bed behind him. He leaned close to Ben, breath hot on his face, and said in a razor sharp voice, “Tennyson. I trust you are comfortable in your new accommodations.” 

Ben swallowed hard, the sound of it embarrassingly loud in the quiet room, and nodded. “Yes, very.” He tried to conjure a sneer of his own, and wasn't really sure he'd made it work, but Vilgax stepped back, making a sweeping motion towards the tray, and the moment was, for the most part, broken. 

Ben moved stiffly, never taking his eyes fully away from Vilgax as he ate. He had eggs on his plate today, along with the usual goo, and he ate ravenously, a hot flush spreading over his face under the weight of Vilgax's gaze. 

Vilgax remained silent for the duration of the meal, simply standing, arms crossed over his chest, watching Ben, who watched him back, as best he could. It wasn't until he'd cleared his plate that he noticed the small syringe hidden beneath the rim. His stomach clenched, and he heaved once before he was able to regain control. He sat still, breathing deliberately for several moments, until he was sure he wouldn't vomit, then said, “Why the hell are you here, Vilgax?” He looked up, steeling his gaze to the best of his ability under the strain of his fear.

Vilgax's face was passive, holding none of the hostility Ben had come to expect. He merely shrugged, and said, “I have come to realize that it is in my best interest to provide for you more thoroughly than I had been.” He smiled, and his voice took on a wicked edge. “The cell broke you, Ben Tennyson, and you are simply of no use to me broken.” He took a step towards the bed, and Ben found himself shrinking back before he could stop. Vilgax laughed, a slow, rumbling chuckle. “It took me quite some time to fathom a use for you outside of the joy of your abject humiliation, but as time has passed, it has become apparent to me that, indeed, I can make more out of you. You are my trophy, and I shall forge you into something worthy of display.” He paused, cocking his head and meeting Ben's gaze with no small amount of menace. “Although, you may want to keep in mind, I could just as easily fulfill my purpose with you still in the cell.”

Ben swallowed hard, eyes darting back to the tray, to the syringe nestled in among the dishes. “What are you going to do with me?” He could not meet Vilgax's eyes again. 

“I'm going to feed you things that you want to eat. I'm going to give you clothing, and shelter, and comfort. All of these things that have been provided for you, were done so on my order, because I am nothing, if not a gracious host. I am going to continue to allow you these comforts, because I know that you will satisfy me.” He paused, and when Ben looked up, he saw a hard, vicious smile. “I know this because, if you don't, you will be put back in your cell, and left to die.” He moved again, and this time, did not stop until he was standing directly next to Ben, a huge, looming bulk, exuding threat enough to paralyze Ben with his own fear. “So, Ben Tennyson, do you submit?” 

Ben looked around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings – the opulent rugs, the plush bedding, the delicate fabric of his clothing, everything which had made him feel human again. He did not want to die, no matter how his mind told him it was the right thing to do. He wanted to live, to escape misery for even a moment in the day. His eyes fell again to the syringe. The price was clear, and he knew, even before the shame could crawl into his skin that he would pay it. 

He picked up the tray and delicately maneuvered around Vilgax to place it on the floor, closing his fingers around the syringe as he stood. No one was coming for him. They had probably all heard of his fall, of Vilgax's trophy, the symbol of his power, the great national pride of Vilgaxia. Kevin, and Gwen, and Grandpa Max had already realized his cowardice, and had left him here to die. All he had left was to survive, no matter the cost. 

The tip of the hypo was cold on his skin, but in an instant, the heat from the drugs took over, slamming through him so quickly it stole his breath. He stumbled back onto the bed, vision blurring behind a sheen of tears as he gasped for air. When he could breathe again, he looked to Vilgax and said on a sob, “I submit.” 

Vilgax grinned, satisfaction settling over him so heavily it was nearly palpable. “Take off your clothes.” 

Ben did as he was told, hands fumbling on the simple ties as the drugs began to cloud his brain. The heat was stifling, and already he could feel the want pooling in his gut. He glanced at Vilgax as he worked the knot at his waist, and his fingers fumbled again, the arousal ripping through him. Vilgax had disrobed, and was already hard, stroking himself absently as he watched Ben's clumsy efforts. 

After another failed attempt at his pants, Ben whimpered and heard Vilgax laugh darkly in response; then his hands were there, pulling easily at the string and stripping him of his pants before his heart could recover a steady rhythm. Ben clenched his hands in the sheets, collapsing onto his back, unable to look away from Vilgax's cock. 

He felt himself clench involuntarily, and his cock jumped in response, already leaking in anticipation. He wondered, for an instant at his body's overwhelming response, thought that perhaps the drugs were stronger this time, or that he was growing more sensitive to them, but as suddenly as the thought came, it was gone, swept away by the abrupt, inescapable feeling of utter emptiness. He clenched again, and realized it was in an effort to feel full. He whimpered and looked desperately up at Vilgax. 

Vilgax smirked, still stroking himself, and said smugly, “Turn over.”

Ben obeyed, helpless to even consider defiance in his current state. In this position, the empty feeling was even more oppressive, and each second of waiting seemed like hours, ticking by slowly as his hunger grew. The relief was tantamount to salvation when he finally felt the press of Vilgax's cock at his hole, smooth, and hard, entering him without preamble or hesitation, and Ben couldn't tell if his face was wet with sweat, or tears of relief. He pushed back involuntarily, seating himself completely on Vilgax's length, and the room echoed with sounds from both of them. 

Vilgax's fingers cut vicious lines against his hips after that, holding him still with enough force to ache bone deep. He would have bruises for days, maybe even weeks, but all he cared about now was the slick, tight pull against his hole, and the unyielding, overwhelming fullness that made stars dance over his eyes. 

Vilgax fucked him savagely, each thrust driven with bruising force, and it was all Ben could do to retain his balance under the onslaught. He strained at Vilgax's grip, careless of the damage his efforts would cause, desperate for more contact as his orgasm began to pull at him. His own cock hung neglected, desperately hard, and he thought, if only he could touch himself, he would come, but he couldn't move, for fear of losing his balance. His only recourse was to twist his hips in Vilgax's grip, pressing onto his cock at an angle that made his vision go white on each stroke. Vilgax snarled and dug his fingers deeper into Ben's flesh, but did not readjust the angle. 

It was not long before Ben was sure he was going to come, whether he touched himself or not. He whimpered, shoulders and elbows burning with the effort of staying on all fours, fingers clenched tight in the sheets, heat coiled unbearably tight in his belly. Vilgax held a steady rhythm, but, seemingly without preamble, released his grip on one of Ben's hips. For a moment, Ben actually missed the hard, crushing ache of it, but then, in an instant, his vision blurred out, and he collapsed onto his elbows with a sharp cry. 

His hole, already stretched tight by Vilgax's thick erection, was being probed now by his finger as well. He did not slow the pace of his thrusts, merely pressed at Ben's hole as he went, stretching him slowly until his finger was inside as well, moving in an agonizing, masterful counterpoint to Vilgax's cock. 

Ben could do nothing but remain still in the face of the overwhelming sensation, his orgasm building quickly under the assault. 

He came without warning. One moment, he was _so close_ , and the next, his vision went white, his body tensed, and his orgasm tore through him, hard and fast. He cried out, his come splattering hot over his stomach and the sheets, and he heard Vilgax give a satisfied grunt in response as he continued to move. 

Ben was like jelly underneath him, unable to draw himself up again, dazed and overwhelmed, too full, too raw, too sensitive, only able to lay there and gasp wetly against the sheets. Vilgax's pace was punishing now, even more so than before. His hips seemed to move less in a rhythm than a desperate frenzy, and it was not long before his fingers clenched tighter on Ben's hip, sharp points breaking skin and drawing blood as Vilgax groaned, and stuttered to a halt, hips pressed flush against Ben's ass. 

When he let go, Ben collapsed completely into the sheets, body trembling under the blitz of sensation. He watched dully as Vilgax wiped himself down using a loose corner of the sheets and redressed himself. When he was presentable again, he turned to Ben, smiling. “I shall make a proper prize of you, yet, Ben Tennyson.” 

Ben only looked away, hiding his face in the pillows as Vilgax left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a very long hiatus, I'm back! I'm sorry for stepping away for so long. I have been feeling very unwell for a very long time, and it's pretty hard for me to write when I'm not physically well. I'm still not doing great, but I decided it was time to just get back on the horse. I apologize if I'm not quite up to snuff, but hopefully as I keep writing, I will find my groove again. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> As always, please heed the warnings!

Max watched, a smile warm on his face, as Gwen was pulled into the grass by tiny, dirt stained hands, mother and daughter laughing as they tumbled, flowers blooming around them. His great-granddaughter was truly a wonder, with dark hair and dark eyes set in a face that could well have been Gwen's from all those years ago. When she smiled or laughed, it seemed the very energy of the world moved around her, everything coming alive, showing brighter and more beautiful than it had before. She had the spark, for sure, though he thought the world would light up for her smile even without her Anodite heritage. 

He turned to Kevin, who was watching the scene with undisguised adoration written over his face. “She's growing up so fast. It's hard to believe it's already been two years.”

Kevin's smile grew obvious and he replied without looking away, “Tell me about it. Seems like just yesterday I was holding her for the first time, and now it's all pulling stuff off the counters and absorbing things she shouldn't.” Kevin laughed dryly. “Gwen says she's smart for her age.” He shrugged, looking nonchalant, but Max had known him long enough to see the pride etched in his posture. “She's already talking in long sentences and everything.” 

The pride, it seemed, was contagious, and Max felt it swell in his own chest as he turned to watch the girls again. He looked on affectionately as Gwen wove little flowers into her daughter's hair, fingers delicate, moving with a tenderness that seemed to come only from being a parent. Beside him, he heard Kevin exhale quietly, almost a sigh.

“She only answers to Ben now, you know. Gwen told her about Uncle Ben, and the first thing she did was decide that Ben was her name now, not Mina. She wouldn't even budge when we told her that's a boy's name.” He laughed, but there was sadness lurking in every corner of it. “Ben would've loved that.”

Max could only mirror the pained imitation of laughter as his throat grew tight and his eyes stung. “You would've never heard the end of it,” he tried to smile as he said it, but the thought of Ben playing the doting uncle, goading his niece into more hero worship was too much. The image was so vivid in his imagination, it was difficult to believe it would never happen. Days like today, it was too easy to imagine that Ben had just stepped out, gone to the store to pick up some milk while the rest of them watched Benjamina playing in the yard. 

Max could see the path of his thoughts in Kevin's own expression, and wished that he could offer some strength. Instead, he could only stand silently, staring out at the yard as Kevin did the same. 

It had been six years, and still the wound felt fresh, each day bringing new ways to keep it open in their hearts. Max knew that it was his duty, as the elder, to accept the loss, and set an example for his grandchildren, but his own grief was too raw. Ben was lost, fallen to Max's own enemy, his death the final testament to Max's own inability to protect his loved ones. It was a pain that would never subside, even if they managed to claim their vengeance some day.

Gwen finished with the flowers and looked up at them, giving a small wave, which Mina copied fervently, smile bright as the sun itself as she shouted, “Hi Grampy! Hi Daddy!” 

Max felt a smile steal over his face, forcing some of his sadness away and replacing it with a new well of fondness and warmth. He waved back, and watched as Kevin sauntered off the porch to join his family in the grass. The pain would never leave, but, for now, the radiance of his family was balm enough to soothe the hurt. 

-

Almitaxx knocked quietly before she entered, knowing that Ben did not take well to being awoken by the sound of the door, and unsure if he might be napping at this hour. He looked up at her as the door hissed shut, and gave her a smile that she had come to recognize as cheeky. He was reading a book, and she felt a small pang of regret that she was going to interrupt, and for something that was likely going to be highly unpleasant. 

Her emotion must have shown in her posture, because Ben's face faltered, and after a short moment, fell completely. It pained her to see it. Of course, Ben was a prisoner here, and she was, technically one of his wardens, but still, she had grown quite fond of him over the years. He had such a vibrant personality, with a strange, dry sort of humor she thought must be unique to humans, and a persistent naivete that was almost unreal considering his circumstances. He carried on his shoulders the weight of a thousand oceans, and still he could manage a smile, at least for her. 

She sighed. 

“Lord Vilgax has ordered you prepared for a meeting in the grand hall. We must make haste.” 

Ben set his book aside and stood, confusion in his voice when he answered, “The grand hall? Why?” 

Almitaxx felt a swirl of unease in her belly. “He did not say.” She looked away. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say it is related to Lord Vilgax's war summit.” 

There was a long pause, and Almitaxx was quite sure Ben was displaying the signs of human discomfort. 

“War summit?” 

She nodded. “Lord Vilgax has invited several unallied warlords together in an effort to negotiate a war trust.” She still could not meet Ben's gaze as she continued, words coming slow as sap oozing from a broken stalk of sea willow. “I imagine he seeks to impress his guests with a display of your loyalty, though I cannot be sure.” 

“Ah.” Ben released a strangled, derisive bark of laughter. “ _My loyalty._ ” There was a long pause, and then he continued, “Did he give you any drugs for me?” 

She looked at him then, and her pity for him was immense. “No,” she said. “I was only instructed to make sure you are clean and dressed presentably.” 

He smiled, but it was like a wound on his face. “Well, I guess we'd better get to it, then.” It was his way of trying to ease her guilt, and she appreciated it, however ineffective the effort was. 

It was not very long before he was clean and dressed in the most sumptuous clothing available to him. The fabric was rich and soft, colored a deep blue to match Vilgax's crest, and it was striking against his pale skin. She had no doubt that his appearance, decked in Vilgax's colors, defenseless and willingly submitting to Vilgax would impress the warlords. It made her chest feel tight to imagine it, and she resolved that, even if she were commanded to stay in attendance, she would not watch the proceedings at Ben's audience. 

-

The evening air was cool on his face, drifting in through the tall windows as they made their way down the corridor, Almitaxx walking beside him companionably, and four silent guards boxing them in. The marble, still warm from the day's sun, was cast in rich blue light, the moon and stars lending a new dapple to its swirling patterns. Ben drank it in, relishing in the openness and freedom of the world outside his room (his _cell_ , his mind whispered, and he pushed the thought away with as much viciousness as he could muster). Almitaxx did not speak, and he kept quiet as well, eyes trained to the high line of windows, searching for every glimpse of sky he could find. He breathed deliberately, willing himself to ignore the slimy stricture of his throat and the cold prick of nervous sweat that had broken across his brow. This walk was a prize, and he would relish it, no matter what price lay waiting in the grand hall. 

When they arrived, Almitaxx ordered the guards to wait outside the doors. “Lord Vilgax,” she said in a hushed tone, “has impressed upon me the utter importance that Ben enter of his own volition. There must be no perception that he is under duress.” The guards tilted their mechanical heads, and Ben thought he could sense irritation in them, despite their always vacant expressions. Almitaxx stood firm, and Ben did his best to shrink in on himself, averting his gaze, and looking non-threatening. He would not risk losing what comforts he had managed to earn over a stupid, futile attempt to gain his freedom with a _war summit_ going on in the next room. 

After a long moment, the guards stood down, taking position by the door and entering sentry mode, weapons at the ready. Ben felt a sigh of relief escape him before he could stop it, and tried not to notice the pained expression Almitaxx was giving him. She was worried for him, and he did not want to think of what that might mean. 

“When we enter,” she whispered, “You must stand with me and wait to be acknowledged.” Her words were rushed, escaping her as though she thought his life may depend on it. “You must do everything he asks, and must not give him, or his guests any reason to doubt your loyalty.” She paused, and Ben thought he could see a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Ben, you must know that this is not the time to remember who you are.” 

He felt the words closing like fingers around his heart, clenching sharply and dripping ice into his veins as he struggled to breathe. He wanted to scream at her, to tell her in no uncertain terms that he _had not_ forgotten who he was. He was Ben Tennyson, hero of Earth, wielder of the omnitrix, and the man who would one day slay Vilgax. He wanted to rage, and to fight, and to die for freedom, as he'd always known he would. 

For a brief, paralyzing moment, he considered how he would attempt his escape. He would turn on one of the sentries, seize its weapon before it could react, use the weapon to destroy the four of them, and then rush into the grand hall. Vilgax and his guests would be too surprised to react in time, as he shot each of them down. After that, he would demand Almitaxx lead him to the spaceport, threatening her if necessary, and he would commandeer a ship to take him back home to Earth. 

Home to Earth, where Kevin, and Gwen, and Grandpa Max were waiting, secure in their decision not to mount a rescue operation for a boy who had surrendered so easily to their enemy. 

He looked at Almitaxx, saw the worry and the wariness in her eyes, and felt his determination slip away once again. “As you say.” He choked on the words, but held her gaze. He would survive this day, as he had all the others, and hope that tomorrow brought a new reward for his good behavior. 

When they entered the grand hall, no one gave any indication of having noticed them. Ben resisted the urge to fidget, standing quiet and still, just inside the archway at the entrance, Almitaxx a comforting presence at his side. There were nine of them, including Vilgax, crowded around an oval table, talking heatedly enough that Ben could not keep up with what they were saying. Vilgax sat at the head of them, set apart only by his position and the sheer, intimidating weight of his visage. The others, Ben thought, could be considered frightening, but none could elicit the visceral kind of panic that Vilgax so effortlessly did.

Briefly, Ben allowed himself to consider his purpose here. He indulged the idea that perhaps his mere presence would be enough to satisfy Vilgax's intentions, and that he would come away from this evening no more scarred than he had been upon waking this morning. It was a thought that did not live long, as Vilgax cast a quick glance towards them, eyes hard like a scalpel's edge. Where he had been nervous before, Ben now felt fear flooding him, his heart picking up speed quickly enough to make him dizzy, and his breath coming in quiet, rapid bursts. The corner of Vilgax's mouth curled, and Ben could see in his posture that he was pleased by the reaction. Ben shuddered.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there, still and quiet, waiting as the discussion at the table ebbed and flowed, tempers flaring and abating in a seemingly endless round. He knew only that his toes were beginning to go numb, a dull ache rising in his heels and knees from standing barefoot and so still on the hard marble floor. He was sure his discomfort must show on his face, and was impressed to find Almitaxx looking calm and serene, as though she could've stood there until the sun rose. Ben bit down on a sigh, determined to remain silent, and turned his gaze to the negotiations once again.

It seemed things were beginning to wind down, each member of the council sitting quietly as Vilgax gathered together the papers which had been strewn across the table. After a long moment of shuffling and stacking, Vilgax spoke. "I will have my scribe draft a contract based on these points of agreement, which we will review and sign when we reconvene tomorrow." There was a round of nods and rumbles of agreement, and then Vilgax continued, a smile stretching his mouth. "Now, there is only one matter left to attend."

He lifted a hand and, without looking towards them, gestured for Almitaxx and Ben to approach. Ben's gait was stiff and uneven, despite his best efforts, and he refused to look anywhere but straight ahead, keeping his gaze unfocused. He was dizzy, and hoped he would not stumble. They came to halt just beside Vilgax, and Ben looked down, unwilling to risk making eye contact.

"Regarding my control of the omnitrix: Behold. Ben Tennyson, wielder of the omnitrix." Vilgax's voice put his teeth on edge, and Ben felt his stomach twist, begging him to vomit. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut for the barest of moments. "Before the night is done, you will see how he bends to my every command." 

"And how do you plan to demonstrate this, Lord Vilgax?" The voice was practically dripping with smarm, and Ben cast a quick glance to the speaker - a thin, elongated birdman with a scaly face, and bony, taloned fingers. He did not let his gaze linger.

Beside him, Vilgax laughed, a malicious rumble that washed over him in a wave a chills. There was a rustle of movement as Vilgax drew something from within his cloak, and Ben felt himself break into a sweat. He didn't need to see it to guess what it was. 

But surely Vilgax didn't intend to use it on him here? Surely he would seem weak if he were to give Ben pleasure in front of an audience. Ben shivered, his skin clammy with sweat, and breathed hard through his nose. Did Vilgax intend to drug him and let the fever take him? Was his slow decent into the fever meant to be tonight's entertainment? 

Ben looked up, panic flooding him, and was met with Vilgax's steely gaze. "Perhaps, General," Vilgax smiled, and his gaze moved to the birdman. "You would like to be the one to administer the formula that will begin the demonstration." He held the syringe almost delicately, offering it to the General with an air of magnanimity.

The General scoffed, a squawking sound escaping him on a sharp exhale. "I should think not! One never knows what kinds of parasites those human worms carry with them." 

Ben saw a twitch in Vilgax's jaw and flinched, cursing the birdman and hoping he would not have to pay for his insubordination. Vilgax only smiled. "Very well. He will do it himself, as he will do anything that I command him to. Such is my sway over him." 

Then the syringe was there, held before him, filling his vision, and it was all Ben could do not to turn heel and run. He was sure everyone in the room could hear the ragged blast of his breath through his nose as he attempted to bring his body back under control. His hand was trembling violently when he raised it to take the syringe from Vilgax, but he dared not wait any longer to follow the command. 

It took him three tries to remove the cap from the needle, and he was unsteady enough that he had to inject himself in the thigh rather than the neck. It was a strange sensation to be hit with the wall of heat while standing, and before he realized what had happened, he was on his knees, the syringe rolling across the floor with a small tinkling sound. When he looked up, vision swimming, and saw Vilgax, looming over him, powerful and solid, and the only thing that had ever given him relief from this sensation, he could not help but moan. 

Heat pooled in his belly, pulling tight and dropping to his groin, and the mere brush of fabric was enough to bring him to full hardness. He ached to reach out for Vilgax, to touch him, and beg him for relief, but, even with the drugs worming through his brain, he knew better than to act before an order was given. So he stayed on his knees, fists clenched, breathing hard through his mouth, thinking only of waiting to hear an order. 

He thought perhaps the other members of the war trust were speaking, but he could not listen, couldn't hear any words over the rush in his ears, and his sharp focus on Vilgax. Saliva pooled under his tongue as he waited, and his eyes felt sensitive, even in the dim light of the room. The heat was unbearable, cloying and inescapable, and already the sweat was soaking through his clothes, pouring over his face, and dampening his hair. He was sure that, in a few moments, he would lose control of his thoughts. He whimpered, and it reminded him how pathetic he truly was.

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood in his mouth, refusing to bow to Vilgax's patient smirk. As long as the drugs allowed him, he would not beg. He would not ask for instruction or permission. He would wait until Vilgax spoke, or until the drugs ate his mind and took away his control. 

He shifted on his knees, and heard himself whimper again. He wanted to touch himself, to press his hand to his dick, to relieve the agonizing need there. He tensed, and the clench of it made him realize how empty he was, made him want to reach out and beg for Vilgax to fuck him. He could smell sex on himself, could feel the sticky wetness of his own precome, dripping out of him before he'd even touched himself. He stared at Vilgax, wanting, silently begging for him to have mercy. He almost opened his mouth to ask, but clamped down on the urge at the last moment, and a keening sob gurgled out of him. 

Vilgax laughed savagely, and it made Ben's heart flutter in his chest. Already, he could feel the phantom of Vilgax's fingers cutting into his hips. "Ben Tennyson, you will disrobe." His voice was like acid and honey, dripping painful and sweet across Ben's nerves, and it was all Ben could do to force himself to nod in acknowledgment as he began to peel his clothes away from his oversensitive skin. 

He folded each piece of clothing as carefully as he could, and handed them to Almitaxx, who still stood behind him, face hard as stone. She would not meet his eyes, but he thought perhaps it was for the best. When he was naked, the cool evening air a blissful kiss on his sweat-sticky skin, he turned back to Vilgax, heart in his throat.

Vilgax only gestured to the table, and said mildly, "Show our guests how far you will go under my command." 

So Ben went, pulling himself onto the table with trembling arms. He stopped, on hands and knees in the middle, and realized with a spark of panic that he didn't know what Vilgax wanted. He cast a cursory glance around the table, was unable to muster a reaction to the contempt and fascination he saw mirrored on all eight faces. Then he looked to Vilgax, wanted to ask for instructions, but could not force any words to come. Instead, a jagged whimper pulled from his chest, and he felt hot, desperate tears streaming from his eyes before he even realized he was crying. 

Vilgax laughed again, a slow, quiet rumble this time. "Show them all the things that shame your species, Ben Tennyson. Show them how far you have fallen. Show them, or fall to the fever." 

With relief rushing deafeningly in his ears, Ben sank down, turning onto his back, and thanking whatever deity may have been listening for Vilgax's mercy. 

In moments, he had three spit slick fingers pressed into his own ass, crooked, and searching desperately for the sensation the Vilgax always managed to tear from him with minimal effort. He pressed his heels hard into the varnished wood of the table, arching his hips up, trying frantically to find an angle that would give him what he needed. The stretch of his hole was agonizing, stinging and painful, yet he couldn't help but want more. His fingers were short and clumsy, unable to fill him, giving only a maddening tease of sensation. 

Ben clenched tight, forcing his fingers deeper at the expense of his wrist, writhing on the table as his other hand worked his dick, moving fast and hard, unable to replicate the vicious assault he had become accustomed to. His breath was coming in pants, a hard, rattling sob working its way to full volume over the course of several exhalations. It wasn't _enough_ , and he felt panic bubbling inside of him as fresh tears began to spill, dripping back into his already sweat drenched hair. 

He was on edge, pushed by the drugs, and by his own ministrations, but no matter how he moved, the coil in his gut only wound tighter, refusing to break and allow him his orgasm. He cried in earnest now, and felt fear swirling with arousal in his belly. Fear that he would be unable to finish, and that the drugs would burn his insides to nothing. Fear that he was displeasing Vilgax, and that, even if the drugs didn't kill him, he would be thrown back into the prison cell, naked and alone. Fear that, after all the mercies Vilgax had shown him, Ben's failure would cause his war trust to fall apart. 

He choked on a sob and turned to his side, still balancing so close to the edge of his orgasm that he couldn't bear to stop touching himself. He swallowed hard, and turned to push himself back to hands and knees, reaching to push fingers back inside as soon as he was able. Vilgax watched dispassionately, his expression neutral, but for the jagged line of his mouth, drawn tight in a sneer. It was an expression he made often just before unleashing his fury on Ben. It made heat curl deliciously in Ben, and he felt his cheeks flush hotter as he let him self collapse on the table, cheek pressed to cool wood as he took his dick in hand once again. 

The angle, the picture of Vilgax's expression, and the dark memories of what usually followed were finally enough, and Ben felt the hot splash of liquid over his fingers before he even realized he was coming. He rode it out for what seemed like ages, body shaking, breath rattling out of him in shuddering wails. When it was over, he collapsed, falling to the table, slick with sweat and come, eyes closed and body sore. 

There was a long moment of silence, and Ben wanted to believe he had stunned them all into oblivion. He did not open his eyes to confirm one way or another, opting instead to revel in his own exhaustion while he could. 

After a few moments, Vilgax spoke, voice deadly calm. "Ben Tennyson, what would you do if I gave you the omnitrix now?"

The question startled him, enough that he opened his eyes. He saw Almitaxx, standing where she had been, his clothes clutched tight enough that her fingers were pale from blood loss. Her face was blank, a mask that hid, what Ben was sure was a tumult of emotion. He felt a cry bubble up in his throat, and as he listened to it echo through the grand hall, he realized he did not have to think to come up with his answer. "Nothing," he croaked, barely audible over his own wretched breath. 

He could only weep as the room erupted into chatter once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short, but chapter 5 should be a bit longer, as it's going to be a bit of a bridge chapter. Hopefully it will be out soon. I have already started work on it.


End file.
